Date: Seventh of January, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

... --- ...

Job Arseoth sat on the step of the building that, one day ago, had been his dorm. A week ago, he had passed his final examinations at the Trebor campus of the Althiem Mage Academy. By a slim margin to be sure, but passed nonetheless. Two days ago, he had received the official notification that he was an accredited mage, licensed to advertise his services and work as such within the Kingdom of Althiem. Yesterday, he had collected his few things from his dorm room. Everything fit in the pack on his lap, the pouches at his hip, or in the case of Nibbles the Mouse, his pocket. Today he was sitting on the step trying to figure out what to do next.

Ten years ago, Job had been a kid on the streets. No money, no real possessions, nothing to mark him out as different… except the small clusters of scratched brassy scales on his olive skin, and the small flashes of instinctive magic. In a city bustling with tradesmen, mages, artisans, sailors, travelers, and peoples form a thousand and six places, he wasn’t anyone unique. Altheim was a kingdom of Elves, but Trebor Province was a trade hub, and home to a metropolis, a temple-town, a dwarven mine-hold, and Silithid village. Humans were common, and scales either on Silithids, Dragonborn, or half-breeds were not uncommon. Job Had always thought himself the son of one of those races, in his days before the Mage Academy. It wasn’t until a wandering librarian, one Head Archivist Innoch Warforged, had bothered to stop and talk that Job’s life had changed. Magic had called to magic, and Job’s life had changed.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Now here Job was, Ten years and a day later, without a home, a job, or a purpose. He had only the clothes on his back, the mere contents of his pack, and a little over ten Althiem gold coins to his name. The Fire Dance festival would begin tomorrow, marking his nineteenth birthday, and Trebor was already abuzz with preparations. Job supposed that he could always seek out the Guild, the international association of licensed adventurers, sell-swords, spell-swords, and mages for hire. Or he could bother the Head Archivist, pumping him for connections or opportunities. And there was always the option of just taking a few days off, enjoying the Fire Dance, and see if anything fell off of that roof before making a play.